


Proposition

by ShadowSelene (Shadowdianne)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-09 21:39:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18925489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowdianne/pseuds/ShadowSelene
Summary: "It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single woman in possession of a good fortune must be in want of... a good shag."Asked by Naralanis





	Proposition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Naralanis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naralanis/gifts).



> Since it was the blob who sent the prompt I’m going to take a page out of the blob’s take on smut and write something with a different lens this time. Or something Xd I fully expect the blob seeing what I mean by that once this story is finished.
> 
> Nevertheless… I’m ShadowDianne in twitter and Tumblr. I’m also permanently open to prompts if anyone feels like sending me some.
> 
> -Dianne out

 

Hermione wanted to scoff at Narcissa’s face, at the vapid theory beneath the words the blonde witch had just uttered but she found herself unable to do so; her lips parting but not sound truly coming out of the as she zeroed at the way the older woman kept eyeing her. Blue eyes glimmering and posture prim and proper, the former Slytherin didn’t seem neither concerned or doubtful if her words rang true. They just were.

Closing her mouth, lips pursing, Hermione moved closer to the edge of the small round table in where the two of them were having tea; the sound of the waitress as she moved from the counter at back, the almost indistinguishable conversations and the twinkling sound of enchanted teacups, filled her ears for a second as the light outside the place shone in the pebble-covered street that parted Diagon Alley in two. She could stand up and leave, she thought as she kept her lips pressed together, eyes never once moving away from Narcissa’s gaze.

She could leave. The words hit the back of her mind once more but her legs didn’t answer to it; her muscles not even twitching as she let her hands fall from the armrests to her knees, wrists limp as she tried to read the older woman: see what was truly behind the cheeky glint of flashing mirth.

She was curious, her conscience surmised. It wasn’t like an indecent proposition would scare her off. She had had her fair of those after she had started to work for the ministry, after the rumor of her split up with the red-head part of the Golden Trio had been confirmed by the sharp tongue but not so sharp wit of Rita Skeeter.  She had never answered those, however, never once said yes to the idea of a tea, a coffee, a date.

Yet, she had said yes to Narcissa, unable truly to deny the wish of the older woman after the witch had bumped into her in one of the many Ministry’s halls. They had exchanged glances before, of course, during the trials, during the divorce, when Hermione had just been barely starting, three years ago. She hadn’t been able to truly understand Narcissa’s glances at her at first. She had only felt them; raw and interested in a way that never truly made her feel uncomfortable but yes observed. Desired, perhaps.

After the blonde woman had exited the place with a piece of parchment that signaled the return of the third Black sister Hermione had guessed the coveted glances, the way Narcissa sometimes seemed to be always hanging around where she was going to walk by, would end. She had swallowed down the disappointment and had kept on working, not fully putting into shape the thoughts that had filled her mind.

And now, for a reason she was yet to ascertain, the blonde was back, with the offer of a tea hanging from a smirk and quite the bluff that now the brunette needed to see for how long Narcissa would be able to maintain. Because, she thought as she tilted her head to the right, fingers twitching beneath the table, there couldn’t be any other explanation to what Narcissa had just implied. Could it?

The blonde’s eyes didn’t waver, but her posture changed as seconds passed: going from the perfect angle of her back to one in where, just as Hermione had moved inched closer, she moved away. Back flushed against the back of the chair and dress hanging low enough for her throat and collarbones to be on display, she rose one brow, challengingly.

“You don’t seem scandalized.”

Narcissa’s voice made Hermione skin prickle and she could do nothing but to feel her cheeks burn slightly hotter for a moment as the blonde’s smirk got more pronounced. She had waited for that to be her response; she realized, and the brunette bit down on her bottom lip, channeling the braveness that was supposed to be the number one precept of her former Hogwarts’ house.

“Should I?” She replied back and while Narcissa didn’t move an inch there was something at the back of her eyes that changed; softening ever so slightly under the trickling lights. Despite her pretended aloofness the younger witch was able to feel the way the palms of her hands got progressively sweatier, her clothes constraining her torso as she took noticeable larger gulps of air. She wasn’t nervous, she chided herself. Yet, the longer Narcissa kept eyeing her the louder she wondered if the blonde was, indeed, not bluffing but offering her something else, something more, than just a simple cup of tea.

And, if she was honest with herself, Hermione considered as she moved away from the table, her posture not as perfect and obviously tense while Narcissa’s looked effortless, her feelings bordered excitement, interest, want, rather than surprise. Or repulsion.

Narcissa Black had always interested her; from a pure theoretical perspective at first maybe, the kind of one that didn’t go beyond reading raptly about the complicated liaisons between all pureblood families. That interest, however, had evolved by the time she had seen the pictures on the Daily Prophet, the news of the beginning of the divorce plastered all over the page. She hadn’t shared the interest the pictures had sparked but she had been far too pleased when blue eyes had focused on her once more and now…

“I’m not going to tell you how to think.” The blonde shrugged gracefully, the movement so out of place in the rest of her demeanor that Hermione swallowed thickly at it, her eyes traitorously lowering to the pale skin that shifted with the movement. “Unless that’s what you want, of course.”

The last bit was said with a little more bite to it, deeper in pitch and certainly with enough double-entendre that Hermione felt a rush running through her body.

She wasn’t entirely sure how Narcissa had known before she had how her proposition wouldn’t be turned down, but she couldn’t help the image she had tried to push down up until that moment resurface in bright colors on her mind’s eye. The where imprecise enough, blurry enough, but not the how, the what, of what she truly wanted to say yes to. And well, she considered, wasn’t that why she had been disappointed at the end? Wasn’t that the very same reason why she had skimmed page after page on the socialite section of the papers after she had surmised that Narcissa wasn’t going to make another appearance in the ministry any time soon?

She didn’t want to fidget but she squirmed on her seat, the movement not going unnoticed by Narcissa has the blonde hummed, eyes narrowing, obviously pleased with her response. Cheeks heating up once more, Hermione reached for the almost empty cup of tea, grateful that her fingers didn’t tremble when she picked it up. She wasn’t nervous, she thought, or maybe she was but not in a negative way: her trusty gut-instincts, the ones she had learnt to hone during the war not pushing her move despite what her more logical brain tried to whisper to hell. No, that voice was muffled by a much more stronger one, the one that made her wonder how Narcissa’s dress was buttoned, if the blonde would magic away her own much more practical slacks and shirt or she would do that with her hands; long fingers what she now focused on. They would be dexterous, she imagined, and the very same thought made her bite into her lip even harder than before, the faint taste of copper grazing the tip of her tongue.

“Before I say… “She halted and quickly corrected herself, but the truth was out, and she could feel Narcissa’s eyes going back to the smoldering levels they had had during those short moments in the halls. “If I say yes, I need to ask why me first.”

She tried her hardest to use a blank stare, one that would betray how interested she truly was on the answer; whichever that one was. She almost broke it, however, the moment Narcissa chuckled, one hand on her lap, the other on the armrest -far too indolent, Hermione thought, not exactly perfect, not exactly lady like. Maybe those were the kind of things Narcissa let herself slip up on after so long of playing into the mask that had been handed to her, not many options available for her. Not noticeable enough but still there.

“Why not you?” The question, fired back at her, made her gape, speechless, and Narcissa let out another soft laugh before she kept on talking. “I thought I saw some shared interest, while the trials and…” The hand in the arm rest made a circular motion, the bones on her wrist slightly visible; delicate and catching Hermione’s eyes before the brunette glanced back at Narcissa’s. “the divorce. Was I wrong?”

Despite the rise at the end of the question the blonde didn’t seem to harbor any doubts on her previous statement and some of Hermione’s stubbornness roared inside her chest as she fought against the need to prove the blonde wrong, to assure her that yes, she was wrong. But that, she quickly thought, would only mean she would walk away from an opportunity that she didn’t truly want to say not to. As crazy as it sounded.

When she answered, however, her voice was much more breathless than she was comfortable with and she cursed her inability to keep her composure in the same way Narcissa was apparently so adept on doing it so.

“No.” Clearing her throat, stealing a glance around the two of them and relaxing marginally as she checked that no one around seemed to be interested on their conversation, she clasped her hands tightly before releasing them; decision made. “You weren’t wrong.”

Blue eyes darkening, Narcissa nodded.

“Excellent.”

The brunette wasn’t sure what she had expected after that, blood rushing towards her ears, drowning everything else but Narcissa’s voice. She definitely hadn’t considered the fact that Narcissa would stand up from the table, circle it and bend until her lips were grazing her temple. Tickles running down Hermione’s back, the ghost of a caress she wasn’t entirely sure was made by her imagination but by a non-verbal spell, the brunette needed to swallow down a whimper as the blonde spoke again.

“How about tonight?”

Hermione wanted to ask why not now, in this very same instant, why she was subjected to the wait, but she saw the smirk dancing once again on Narcissa’s lips and she forced the questions down, reveling on- this time not imagined- the kiss the older witch pressed against her temple. Skin flushing, feverish, by the time Narcissa moved away, casting one last glance to Hermione before leaving the place with the echo of clinking galleons floating behind her.

Well, the brunette thought: she was in trouble.

 

**Author's Note:**

> PS: This one had… 1.5k more written down originally. But I’m tempted to make this a three-shot or something so I’m just going to keep the scene that came after this one sequestered for the time being. I’m evil like that I guess. Or a tease.


End file.
